Camellia 82

Madman.

Yeoso couldn’t help but think that way. Right in front of the Cheonsin, the mad bride had cast aside his sword and was captivating the audience with a bizarre dance. His arms and legs floated down like feathers, drawing elegant lines as if mimicking the wings of a giant bird.

No human body could stay aloft that long. Each time the mad bride pushed off the ground, gasps mixed with groans burst from the stands.

“Wow…!”

He spun with arms stretched wide, then landed in a handstand, palms pressing into the ground. He moved without pause, performing one feat after another, then snapped a sharp glare at Yeoso. It was clear what he meant: Why aren’t you playing yet?

“Hah! You think I’m crazy enough to perform for you?”

Yeoso muttered bitterly, then froze, eyes wide. His hand, which had been refusing to play, moved on its own. Slowly, he reached back and pulled out his pipa.

‘Damn it! This is the Geukmunggak Lord’s doing!’

His brown eyes flared with hostility as he turned toward the Eight Pavilion Lords. Sure enough, Sa Yeoho was smirking, sending him a voice transmission.

“The Gyo-mo gave you an order, so why are you taking your sweet time, Yeoso? Or should I call you Nabi now, hmm?”

Only then did Yeoso realize that his shadow beneath the stands had been devoured by Sa Yeoho’s.

That was the Geukmunggak Lord’s specialty: using spiritual techniques to consume another’s shadow, turning it into his own and bending it to his will. Sa Yeoho’s fingers moved in dazzling flourishes as if playing an instrument, and Yeoso, helpless, hugged the pipa to his chest and began to pluck the strings. A martial artist of Yeoso’s level didn’t need false nails to produce perfect notes.

The song chosen by the Geukmunggak Lord for the Gyo-mo was “The Song of Moving Wind,” a folk tune passed from the people to the palace.

A tale of a woman who chose to become the wind itself, believing that hearts had no fixed direction, and that love, too, was swayed by the gusts of life.

The melody flowed like a gentle breeze, laced with fleeting notes of sorrow. As the music picked up, the mad bride fluttered about, dodging swords with a dancer’s grace, but shouted, clearly displeased.

“Nabi! Something livelier! You call yourself a musician and can’t even read the mood?!”

Sa Yeoho shurggree awkwardly and chuckled.

As ordered, he shifted course mid-performance. His fingers moved faster and faster, and with a sidelong glance, he signaled diagonally across the stage.

A warrior sitting in that section understood immediately, drew out a flute, and brought it to his lips.

Yeoso wasn’t the only martial artist who used instruments to channel Qi. As one sound layered atop another, Seolyeong finally cried out with satisfaction.

“Yes! Now this is something worth dancing to!”

Tang Yujae laughed in disbelief as he watched the shameless bride fluttering freely through the air, toying with Peng Rang like a windborne leaf. Even as sword aura nicked flesh and blood dripped, the bride performed forward and backward flips midair, keeping the crowd spellbound.

He was clearly of the Blood Fiend race, there was no other way he could leap so high. With a strong flick of his foot, his sword angled toward Peng Rang’s hair. She responded by tucking her elbow in, blade close to her chest, and a strip of flesh from his thigh was neatly shaved off on contact.

Yet Seolyeong didn’t stop. Planting his big toe with elegance, he reached out mid-spin and deftly undid the pale green ribbon holding Peng Rang’s hair. He caught the ribbon in his hand, twisted up his own hair high atop his head, and grinned.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already, sister?”

A playful provocation. Peng Rang shouted back.

“If you respect the soul of a martial artist, pick up your sword and fight! How dare you abandon your weapon mid-duel!”

But by now, Peng Rang had long since forgotten that the person in front of her was the Gyo-mo. And Seolyeong hadn’t stepped into this duel to be treated like one either. He replied with a grin.

“Please. How am I supposed to beat you fairly in this state. My goal’s just to make you sick of me and drop out.”

Then he pushed off again.

This time, he sprang off Peng Rang’s shoulder and shot toward the ceiling, toward the high seat where the Sahyeol Amje sat.

His body streaked through the air like lightning. Just before they collided, Seolyeong flattened midair and extended a hand.

His fingers skimmed the Sect Leader’s cheek, a teasing stroke, as if to say, Watch me closely.

“Obey Heaven and live, defy Heaven and perish!”

The cheer rang out just in time. A performance like this was perfect fuel for the hearts of the demonic sect, who thrived on chaos and extremes.

The Gyo-mo landed, blood-splattered, and bent backward in a sweeping arc. Locking eyes with Peng Rang, he raised both hands and formed the shape of a butterfly over his face. The gesture blocked his view entirely. His long hair swept the ground like a veil.

As if daring her to attack in that state, Seolyeong calmly caught his breath.

“Haa, haa…”

One could only call it beautiful. The character ‘협’ (chivalry) on his nape rose and fell with each pulse, and Yujae held his breath.

Peng Rang gathered her balance, index and middle fingers pressed together, readying a devastating strike. A powerful gust howled through the arena, the signal of a true master moving.

“Arrogant bastard…”

Blood vessels burst in her eyes. Crimson and wet, tears shook loose with every tremor of her body. Her Qi surged wildly, washing over the spectators. Some collapsed foaming at the mouth, struck by the force alone.

Thump. Thump.

The pounding didn’t stop, it echoed in Peng Rang’s chest, in Seolyeong’s chest, and throughout the hearts of the onlookers.

Something about the air had shifted.

The Geukmunggak Lord suddenly stopped his finger movements and lifted his head.

“…This…”

White snowflakes danced down. The denser the wind became, the more violently they fell.

“…This isn’t the Peng Clan’s domain. Something else is resonating here.”

The midsummer storm of snow overtook the arenaw

“Hold on tight, little brother!”

A fierce battle cry rang out. Peng Rang charged forward in a direct assault.

The fatal strike of the Ice Lotus Sword, Ice-Hate Breaking Palm!

The blizzard blotted out vision entirely. The spectators couldn’t even open their eyes. But the Eight Pavilion Lords of the Cheonma Singyo Sect, including Sahyeol Amje, swept the snow aside with their Qi, and saw it.

The leather cord of Hanhoe delegation leader’s necklace had snapped, the pill it held buried deep in the bride’s chest.

Boom! Explosions rang out across the field, the clash of peak-level Qi techniques. The blizzard swallowed the plateform whole. Whether Peng Rang’s sword had pierced the bride, whether he had survived, it was impossible to tell.

Only Sahyeol Amje knew the outcome. He burst into laughter, so loud it seemed to shake the stage.

“Ha… Hahahaha!”

Tears welled at the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t even remember the last time he laughed like this. Crash! His fist slammed the armrest of his seat, and the ground trembled.

The quake pushed a tall pile of snow straight into the stands. When the storm cleared, the polished stone floor lay bare, and Peng Rang was the only one lying there, limp.

The Hanhoe delegation leader staggered to her feet.

“This… this can’t be…”

She didn’t want to believe it.

The Heavenly Heart Ice Pill, an artifact said to choose its master, had responded to someone who wasn’t even of the Bing Clan.

Only three were born each generation. Raised in the sacred snows and infused with the will of the heavens, the pills looked ordinary unless they met their destined master. Then they glowed like blue pearls and unleashed a storm of unresolved regret.

Bing Biyu had felt it clearly. The pill burning, breaking free from its cord.

Clutching the now-empty necklace, she muttered in disbelief.

“How… How could the heavens of the North Sea answer someone outside the Bing line?!”

She knew who the pill had chosen.

So did Sahyeol Amje.

He looked up at the gaping hole in the ceiling, eyes narrowed.

“It seems… the world itself has fallen for you, Ahyeong.”

At the same time, a low voice slipped out.

Crash! The duel hall doors burst open. Someone tall strode in, half-naked and twirling a spiritual stone blade.

The returning figure, unscathed, was none other than the mad bride.

“Whew.”

Seolyeong exhaled, planting a hand on his hip as if to show off his flawless skin. His robes were in tatters, worse than a beggar’s, but his energy hadn’t faded a bit.

He swept back his disheveled hair and grinned.

“Now, will you finally announce my victory, my dear husband?”